"Daughtership" is ackward to say, but "sonship" feels too masculine.

This has been a very good season in our church. We've talked a lot about the love of the Father, and the difference between seeing Him through the eyes of a son or the eyes of an orphan. It's made me realize how much I still have to learn about being a daughter. It's funny, really. I'm a grown woman, married, with children. My own parents live two states away from me. I don't think about being a daughter on a daily basis -- maybe not even weekly. But there is so much that God is trying to teach me about being His daughter right now.
A few weeks ago I was rocking Elsie at bed time. She's at such a sweet stage. Just barely eight months old, full of smiles. She had her left thumb in her mouth, with her free fingers clasping her right hand as usual. Her eyes were locked on mine, like I was the only thing in the room. I usually put her down before she falls asleep, but that night I wanted to savor every second, and she fell asleep quickly. I became enchanted with her. I didn't want to put her down. I just wanted to look at her. God's so lucky, I thought. He gets to watch her all night long. And my next thought was, He gets to look at me all night long. Not just, yeah, God's watching me all night long because He's protecting me, or because it's a required duty of His. He wants to look at me all night long, the way I wanted to sit and stare at Elsie.
At prayer last Saturday, we had some discussion time about the Prodigal Son. Jason brought up the point that we think we have to grovel like the prodigal every time we mess up. But we're not prodigals, we are sons. We make mistakes, but we're sons. Tiffany said that the prodigal son had such a low expectation of the Father's affection and acceptance. I started thinking about what it would have really been like to have been the son in that story. To have blown it so bad that you thought your dad would only accept you in his house again as a slave. And then to have him run to you, fall on your neck and kiss you, and then heap honors upon you that you didn't deserve or expect. I can imagine that boy never questioned how his father felt about him again. Never again would he have low expectations of his father's love or acceptance of him. How could you feel insecure after such an experience?
Once I was the prodigal, but now I have been adopted. I was orphaned, but Father God has called me his daughter. He has given me the inheritance and rights of a firstborn son. He has heaped honors on me that I neither expected or deserved or imagined. Why then, should I have anything but the highest expectations of His affections and acceptance?
"Behold, what manner of love the Father has given unto us, that we should be called the sons of God! And that is what we are!"